Page 59 of A Treasure To Keep (Leone Legacy #2)

Andrea

A t first, El doesn’t move when the man holds out the paperwork for her to take.

Instead of reaching out, she takes a step back, shaking her head with her jaw clenched.

He reaches out farther, shaking the envelope in his hand.

His eyes switch from El to me, wondering who plans to accept the envelope.

Knowing that El has no intention of taking the envelope, I grab it from the man.

The quicker he’s gone, the quicker El and I can get back to our lives.

The second I grab the envelope from his hands, he walks away.

El’s jaw is still clenched, and my hands are shaking slightly.

It’s been crickets from Marco since El found out she’s pregnant.

Would Marco honestly interfere with our lives that much?

“Mon trésor? Come inside. We can unpack this together.” I unlock the door, offer her my hand to lead her inside, and set the envelope on the kitchen island.

The two of us stare at it, practically convinced it’s the monster book in the magic movie we re-watched recently that will wake up and attack us any second.

All it would take is one of us opening the packet for that to happen.

Instead of being irate, when El eventually speaks, her words are calm. Almost haunting. “Open it.”

I pick up the envelope, staring at Marco’s name as I lift the tabs. The paperwork I pull out is heavy, both physically and mentally, as I read through it.

Both of us remain silent as I scan through everything.

My eyes subtly glance up and notice tears in El’s eyes.

I know these are out of anger, heightened by the pregnancy's hormones, versus being sad. When I finish reading through the paperwork, I set it down on the counter. El’s shaking hands reach out, turning the packet toward her.

“What does it say?” She raps her nails on the counter while trying to keep control of her anger. I know her quarks better than she does, knowing this is the moment she could crack after my next sentence.

“First of all, we will need to hire a lawyer. I’ll call James’s husband.

Marco is asking for partial custody. That is, if he is the biological father, which will make things complicated for me.

Since he wants to claim paternity, that means without it stated in writing, I have no legal rights over our baby.

Medical decisions, anything school related, and whoever is on the birth certificate will fall on you and Marco.

He’s also asking for a paternity test as soon as possible to confirm said paternity.

He wants Dr. Rossi to be your doctor during your pregnancy.

And for the baby to have his last name.” I didn’t think that last part was possible.

I guess if you have enough money and power, anything is possible.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? This kid isn’t even born yet, and he thinks he has the right to fuck up my life?

The audacity! I should have cut off his dick when I had the chance.

Maybe his genitals would match how much of a bitch he’s being.

” She takes the knife from the cutting board we forgot to wash after breakfast and stabs it into the cutting board, mimicking what she would do to Marco’s genitals.

“Woah, mon trésor. Let go of the knife.” I peel her hand away from the handle, setting it in the sink once I pry it from her.

When I turn around, El is staring at her hand, still open from where the knife was.

Eventually, she blinks, clinching both hands and placing them on the counter.

The silence is deafening until she inhales deeply, screaming out all of her frustration.

The silence that follows is deafening when she’s done screaming.

My nosy neighbor knocks, interrupting the silence before I can even inhale to ask if she’s okay.

“Is everything okay?” My next-door neighbor is sweet and caring, but she picks the worst time to get involved. El stares at me, eyebrow raised, questioning what I’ll do. Cautiously, I walk past El similarly to how I’d walk by a bear until I reach the door.

I open the door, attempting to be as polite as possible. “Everything will be okay. We got some unexpected news.”

“Does it have to do with the guy in the hallway?”

I try to think of something to say, but run short, slamming the door in her face.

When I step back into my kitchen, El is grasping the counter, with her head tilted to the side. Oh no. That’s never a good stance.

“Mon trésor?”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” El doesn’t say anything else before swiping up her keys and storming out of the apartment without another word.

This can’t be good.